Daddy, Hello Goodbye

Two Poems and My Creative Process During National Poetry Writing Month

Yesterday, I was feeling gloomy. I got the feeling out in a poem that I may or may not keep. The important thing was to write something, even though it was like trekking through sludge up to my knees. If you’ve ever experienced mud season, you know what I mean.

The first drafts of my poems tend to be too short or too long. My April first poem is simply two lines. I rarely leave poems untitled, but this one may stay that way. It is more of an aphorism than a poem, but if Walter Liggett, Jr. can publish aphorisms as poetry, so can I.

April 1, 2021 Poem

The strongest forces on earth:
gravity, ignorance, and greed.


April 2 Poem

If my first National Poetry Writing Month poem was shorter than usual, the second one is much longer. If I keep it, I will probably edit it down. There’s a three-line stanza that could go, but editing is for May. I wrote this poem with a prompt, the word “after.” I learned that prompt from poet, peace activist, and creative writing teacher Janet Weil. Several years ago, she gave a workshop at the Pink Convergence, a CODEPINK Women for Peace event in a beautiful, rustic retreat on the Central Coast, and I wrote a poem called simply “After.” Thank you, Janet.

For me, this prompt always brings up painful memories. That’s OK. Wordsworth said that poetry is emotion recollected in tranquility. To shamelessly quote myself, “in the crucible of pain, the poet forges words of gold.” It may take some alchemy to turn this poem from lead into gold, and that’s OK, too. Repeat after me, “Editing is for May.”

“Daddy, Hello Goodbye” is intensely personal. I feel hesitant about sharing it. However, I am not the only person to experience abandonment at an early age. This poem is based on my memory of an actual event. I have a clear memory of my father’s dark hair and eyes contrasting with his fair skin, which was especially pale that day, also charcoal smudges under his eyes. It is one of only two memories I have of him.

I remember how it felt to be mobbed by my children when I came home exhausted. Yet, I was always glad to see them. I wanted their hugs and kisses. They are the most important people in my life, and I basked in their love. (Then, after a proper greeting, I may or may not have had a lie down with my door closed!) If you are a father, here’s a child’s view of the father coming home after a rough day.

Daddy, Hello Goodbye

Daddy’s home!
He sinks into his easy chair,
face pale under crow-black hair.
I climb into his lap
to hug and kiss him
But no.

Scooped up by Mom, I am carried to the nursery,
aching for Daddy’s arms.
“Daddy’s tired,” Mom says softly, “don’t bother him.
Play in your room and be quiet when he comes home.”

I plopped down onto the rug.
I didn’t play with my blocks.

Daddy wasn’t happy to see me.
He didn’t want my hugs and kisses.
I was a bother.
It was hard, but I stopped going to Daddy.
He didn’t come to me.

I learned sadness.
I learned loss.
I was two years old.

A few weeks later,
he was gone completely.
Daddy didn’t say goodbye, but then,
he never said hello.